Crooked Leaves
by Eden Evergreen
Summary: (VQL # 9) Approximately 3000 years post-manga, unexplained attacks drastically reduce the population of independent plants on No Man's Land. Vash's surviving children must band together with Chronica to find solutions.
1. Apprentice

_Vash the Stampede belongs to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow, not me._

_Approximately 2998 years after the manga ends..._

...

...

**Apprentice**

Kamila grinned to herself in the quiet peace of her own hidden chambers. It was surprisingly easy.

These humans, they simply could not live long enough to learn a fraction of what she already knew. She could bend their puny minds with words almost effortlessly.

If any showed a streak of stubbornness, she could bend their minds... or their bodies... with her power.

She had already lived long enough to know it was useful to have some human pets trained to do her bidding. Master Knives had been correct about that. It limited how much she needed to interact directly with untrained humans, which could be unpleasant.

Untrained humans failed to show proper respect to her superior existence. Using trained humans also kept her in the shadows, unknown and therefore not hunted.

Her lip curled at that thought of being hunted, for it reminded her of the infamous Stampede. She'd never completely believed that he was dead, when the official declaration came. She was only 38 years old at that time, but it had felt too unlikely. He was too clever, and he had already evaded death too many times. It seemed far more rational to expect that he was merely doing a more elaborate evasion.

She couldn't get far with Seeds villagers, though. They were exceedingly stubborn, and tended to die under the amount of power it took to bend their minds to her will. They were more trouble than they were worth. After she bent all other towns and cities to her will, if Seeds still resisted... she would erase them.

She stroked her own arms, smiling at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time she erased uncooperative humans. However, before she could do that, the plants who tried to live like humans must die. Else they would interfere.

Nate Saverem, now that one had been a puzzle. Most believed him the son of the Stampede. He'd appeared 25 years after the humanoid typhoon was declared dead, and looked to be about mid-twenties in age. But with Plant blood flowing through his veins, his age could be very different from his appearance.

His middle name, Vash, was suggestive. When anyone asked him about his father, he always responded that he'd never known a father. If one pressed him with further questions, he would say that those women who were mothers to him had never mentioned anything about a father.

His hair was black, highly unusual for human-plant hybrids. They were usually blonde, and had very little of the power inherent in pureblood plants. They didn't usually live more than several hundred years, either. Nate was at least two thousand years old, now, if one believed his ID's assertion that he was born a year after the death of the Stampede.

Kamila no longer believed that. Short-lived humans might be fooled, but she was no fool.

Nate Saverem had to be Vash the Stampede. It was the only logical explanation. She had suspected, and then she had proven it to her own satisfaction. His capture of Knives, allowing her to meet the ultimate plant, was further proof.

Vash had joined the Humans' law enforcement system as a deputy marshal. She used to find it interesting that he never sought promotion to full marshal.

However, in reconsidering, she'd realized that promotion would restrict him to functioning within a single district. As a deputy, he could be temporarily assigned anywhere... and he often was. That was likely the method to his madness.

He never displayed any plant power, but he had the reflexes of a pureblood plant. She had seen to it that some of her pets had killed enough untrained humans to attract his attention, and she had watched the resulting battles. No half-blood was ever that fast.

Either he would change to please her, or else he would simply become yet another obstacle that she removed from her path on the way to fulfilling her own potential. His seed had value, though. Perhaps she would keep him to help her create new generations of plants that would hold her ideals, instead of his.

Vash professed that wanted the humans to live unrestrained, as if he was foolishly hoping that humans would grow as a species. She didn't know where he'd acquired such ridiculous notions, but she hoped to change his mind. In fact, she _expected_ to change his mind. Nearly all males were slaves to their sex drives. With that leverage, she could compel him to do whatever she wished.

Given how close he kept his wife, it seemed likely that he was at least as inclined toward that activity as any other healthy male. He would dance to her tune, or else he would spend a great deal of time caged up and being shown exactly what he was missing.

Kamila's smile showed her teeth. The town where she originally appeared was perhaps the most corrupt on the planet. She had been purchased by the owner of the largest brothel in that town, when she was less than a year old.

He'd known exactly what she was, and had often held the price he paid to purchase her over her head. As if his expenditure made her more valuable than she was simply by being herself, or as if she owed him something after he spent so much money on her. Ridiculous.

The "lessons" had begun shortly after she completed her first year of life. Those earliest lessons had been extremely unpleasant. But she began to learn, and oh, how well she learned! It wasn't long before she could control any male that crossed her path. That's when she killed him, for he was of no further use to her.

She had lost none of her skills. Occasionally, she made use of one of her pets to stay in practice. As a result, over the years, she'd had five children. Four of those were now dead; some of old age. The fifth was currently working at Sheriff Central. Through that pawn, she would learn when to strike.

She sometimes regretted that she had never known Knives that way. They had always only communicated telepathically. He'd insisted that she not draw attention to herself until their plans were ripe. So she had waited, and then his escape plan had failed. Instead of escaping, he had died.

From that time forward, she had begun formulating her own plans. She would learn from his mistakes, and become greater than he had been. She left the town where he had been imprisoned, and she slowly began building her own empire.

Conquering Knives' brother would be proof that she had exceeded her erstwhile master, for he had never achieved that. She glanced around the room, and chose a perfect place to put a cage that would contain the infamous Stampede. She might even keep him there regardless of his degree of cooperation. It could be fun to keep him as a living, breathing, helpless trophy.

Kamila anticipated that it wouldn't be long before Knives' brother bowed to her wishes, though. She smiled again, savoring the imagined images of Vash the Stampede begging to do her will, if for no other reason than that he might be permitted to share her bed.

Regardless of what she decided to do with Vash, though, his wife had to go. That excessively quiet, boring, human-loving healer was a disgrace to plant kind. Oh, humans viewed Shyla as a natural resource, which was laughable. Any plant could do what she did, but why should they?

Let the humans die. Get the human population down to a manageable level, and let the plants rule them. This should be the natural order of things. That is why she had chosen a crooked leaf as her emblem. Nature had been twisted; that needed correction.

Kamila meant to correct the current situation on No Man's Land, and reform it into the more natural order of Plants ruling humans. She rose from her ornate upholstered chair and paced restlessly around her spacious rooms a few times. The first significant meeting would be tonight, a gathering of all the cell leaders.

She paused before a full-length mirror, and admired her own reflection. Long blonde hair framed her flawless face and tumbled down her back past her waist and on down to her knees. Her body was slender but strong. She was taller than most human females, but so well-proportioned that few noticed that until they had to look up to meet her gaze. Her amber eyes were cold and strong, not meltingly soft the way that Shyla's pale eyes were.

Kamila's lip curled again. She'd met that healer plant, and her husband, more than once. She had no use for Shyla, the cause of Knives' downfall. She would rid this world of that human-loving healer, and claim her husband for her own. He, at least, could contribute toward the creation of new generations of plants.

She passed out of her elaborately decorated chambers and into the tunnels. The cave system had proven a useful find, near to towns and cities but entirely unknown to them. She could step into these caves and disappear from human knowledge any time she wished.

Between having the caves to stay in anytime she wished to disappear, and changing her name regularly, there were no records of her existence as a plant. That would change, but only when everything was ready.

She walked leisurely through the tunnels to the largest cave near the most obvious entrance. Many entrances had been hidden, and the passage out of this cave to the deeper tunnels was well-concealed. All had been accomplished by prior generations of human pets, destroyed thereafter to preserve the secret.

The large cave had been cleaned up by several of her pets, and kept cleaned thereby for many generations of their kind. One of the best-trained among her current pets would be speaking this evening. He would outline her plans, and rally the others to act.

It was highly amusing how easy it was to prey upon their xenophobic tendencies. They had no idea that they worked for a plant. They thought they were going to exterminate the creatures that unfairly had longer lifespans than their own. They thought they were preventing too many of No Man's Land's few resources from being used unfairly by those who lived too long.

Oh, she would install a lifespan limit enforcement procedure for humans. They sometimes grew clever if they lived too long, and that would prevent misuse of resources.

After the revolution was complete, and the plants with troublesome notions were either eliminated or pressed into useful service, the new generations of plants would live out their natural lifespans unshackled by humans or their nonsense.

The gathering would begin in an hour, to command the extermination of all female plants descended from "Nate Saverem," along with any other females that got in their way.

Shyla was specifically targeted, though those assassins were carefully instructed not to harm her husband under pain of death.

Kamila smiled again. This would be fun.

...

...

...

...

**Author's Note:**_Hopefully, this story should be able to stand alone. However, it is also a sequel to __"Journeys and Quiet Times" __Prior to that tale comes (in chronological order):__ "Vash's Quiet Life"__ (1__st__),__ "Vash's Long Road to Home" __(2__nd__),__ "Rem Returns" __(3__rd__),__ "Vash Vindicated" __(4__th__) __"Shared Memories" __(4.5),__ "Disquieting Days" __(5th),__ "Loss" __(6th) and __"Humans and Plants"__ (7__th__).__I hope you will enjoy all of them that you choose to read._

_There's also an associated "free verse" poem titled__ "Too Late," __and a semi-associated collection of shorter stories,__ "Search for a Stampede."_

_ (Just in case anyone happens to be interested in reading any more of what I imagine might follow the manga's end.) _;-)

_There are also two companion tales to this series written by the highly talented _"JasperK": "Stasis" _and_ "With This Ring." _Please give them a read, if you haven't already read them. Thanks!_ :)


	2. Attack

_Vash the Stampede belongs to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow, not me._

_Approximately 3000 years after the manga ends..._

...

**Attack**

"Is that everyone?" Shyla asked.

Naomi nodded. "As far as I can tell, this is the last," she said.

"Good," Shyla said with a sigh.

Vash looked at his daughter Rem, and they exchanged a smile. There had been so many injured; both plant and human healers had been very busy for the last week and a half.

Thankfully, few had needed the special assistance that only plant healers could give. However, there had been so many hurt people that it had taken a long time to see to everyone, even without needing to budget plant energy. Also thankfully, all plant healers were fully trained in standard medicine, and could administer that as needed.

"How bad is it, with her?" Shyla asked.

"She'll need surgery," Naomi said, "and one of us should probably stay nearby in case any complications arise. Aside from that, I think we're done."

"Thank God," Shyla said.

"Amen!" Rem said fervently.

Suddenly, every one chuckled. The other Seeds doctors in the room were adding their agreement, too. "This place wears on my mind," one of them complained. "I can't get home soon enough!"

"I suppose there's no reason for us to stay any longer?" Vash asked.

"None that I know of," Naomi said. "You can go ahead and set up camp."

"I think we'll do that," he said, smiling. "I hope we can all be there to admire the sunset together this evening." His glance took in everyone from Seeds village, plants and ordinary humans alike.

Several murmured agreement. It had been a long two weeks. The travel to get there hadn't been so bad, but there was something distinctly odd about the town.

The townsfolk were outwardly appreciative of their assistance. However, they also continually radiated hostility and looked at not only the bodyguards but also the healers as unwelcome outsiders.

Everyone was eager to leave, and begin the journey back to Seeds ship village. The idea of spending an extra night out on the desert was more appealing than spending another night in the strangely hostile town.

Shyla came to his right side, and he put his arm around her. She stretched her left arm around his back, and they hugged sideways before looking back at the others in the room.

"We'll see you in a couple hours or so?"

"Yes, we should be finished in two hours," Naomi judged. "Two and a half, at most."

"Ok, see you then."

He and Shyla waved farewell to everyone and left.

They went to their hotel, checked out, and slung their bags over their shoulders. They went to the room where the tents and other camping equipment were stored, and got those. Shyla carried their own bags, and Vash carried the tents and other miscellaneous useful camping gear.

Soon they were walking away from the town, and feeling better with every step. The desert winds brought fresh air, untainted by the stench of hostility. It was a welcome change.

After an hour's worth of walking, they found a suitable campsite. They dropped their bags, and began to set up tents. In ten minutes, the first tent was set up and they were beginning work on the second.

The wind was blowing from the desert toward the town, so they didn't hear or smell the people who came. Their first knowledge of others nearby was when they heard a shout.

"Please, help us!" a woman called.

"What's the matter?" Vash asked.

"My daughter!" she said.

In her arms was a little girl, completely limp. How had they missed an injured child? And why had she been brought here, instead of being taken to the hospital in town where Naomi and the other doctors were?

Vash hoped he was merely being paranoid from too many decades spent as a hunted outlaw, followed by millennia of being a lawman. Something didn't read right, and he didn't like it. So he tried to be ready for anything he could think of.

There were many people behind her, perhaps fifty. He saw that Shyla's eyes were only for the limp child carried in the woman's arms. He quietly stayed close to her, nervously keeping his right hand as near as possible to his holster without looking too much like he was prepared to draw.

Shyla gestured that the child should be laid upon the sand. When that was done, she knelt to examine her.

(Vash, she's only sedated,) Shyla's thoughts came. (I can't find anything else wrong with her.)

About that time, the wind shifted enough that he could catch the scent of hostility. He began to move even closer to Shyla, as someone from the crowd shouted, _"Now!"_

"Blood suckers!" some shouted.

"You claim to heal us, but you only come to feed on us!" others accused.

"We won't let you steal any more of our lives!"

The crowd began to roar, transforming into an angry, mindless mob.

They were surrounded. It had happened so fast, and there were so many...

The crowd had thrown a net over him. They began tearing at his clothes, and then unbuckling, cutting, and otherwise removing his body armor. He resisted by pushing them away, and wriggling and wrestling to the best of his ability. He felt Shyla's back against his, and saw shadows on the sand indicating she'd spread her wings.

Vash didn't want to hurt anyone. He was nearly entangled in their net by the time he knew - not merely suspected, but _knew_ - there was danger. It had happened swiftly enough that both he and Shyla were successfully disarmed of their holstered handguns. Vash still had the gun concealed in his prosthetic arm, but he did not want to use it on weaponless people.

They both pleaded with the mob to stop, until the knives came out. He was never quite sure how it happened, but their attackers briefly succeeded in separating them. A knife was held to Shyla's throat, and the wielder appeared ready to slice.

Vash immediately wrenched his left arm free, and started firing. He saw Shyla's wings moving swiftly, even as he began to feel knife blades slicing and entering his body. He had to protect her. No matter what happened to him, he had to get her away from here.

He didn't know how long he fought. He was operating entirely on instinct and reflexes, desperate to shield Shyla. Somehow, he disarmed an attacker and got a hold of the man's knife, and found another for his artificial hand when his gun ran out of bullets. He had no idea when or how he'd cut the net away.

He continued fighting, trying his best to inflict only non-lethal yet adequately disabling injuries. Some of those injuries might never heal properly, but he didn't have time to be as careful as he wished.

Harm to himself - that, he could forgive. He was a fighter, and had been for most of his life. He had injured, and, upon occasion, he had reluctantly (or unwillingly) killed. He understood that one who lived by weapons risked dying by them.

But Shyla had never harmed anyone. Her interest, and her expertise, was healing. When she was attacked, his store of forgiveness swiftly wore thin. Shyla was in danger: he would protect her until his last breath and his last drop of blood.

The fighting seemed to last for several hours, but the suns had not yet set when all of their attackers lay groaning on the ground.

He and Shyla looked at each other with tears streaming down their faces. What could possibly have provoked such a vicious attack? Who told them the lies they were shouting? How could they possibly believe such nonsense? Didn't they know how plants worked? It was done by giving, not taking!

There was no time to aid the attackers beyond making sure that nobody had landed on top of the little girl. He could feel his time running out. He had to hurry.

He took hold of Shyla's arm and spent about ten minutes compelling her to walk away as swiftly as they could manage with their injuries. He knew his numbness wouldn't last, and he was desperate to get her away in case more attackers came.

When they stopped to assess each other's injuries, his blood began to run cold. Shyla was bleeding badly. He would not permit her to even look at him until after she was adequately bandaged.

Just as he finished bandaging her injuries, which thankfully were only flesh wounds, he collapsed. It had suddenly become incredibly difficult and painful to breathe. He did not lose consciousness when he collapsed, but he couldn't speak. The pain made it difficult even to organize his thoughts to send her.

"They got you in one of your lungs," Shyla said, kneeling beside him for a quick examination. She sounded like she was trying very hard to avoid crying. "It looks like it has collapsed. Please Vash, hold still and let me heal you..."

(Don't risk... yourself... for me... Mayfly,) he begged in thought. (If I ... cannot ... survive... let me... go. You ... stay for... children.)

(You should know by know that I can't do such a thing,) Shyla responded. (Now hold still, while I look you over. If you make yourself worse, it could hurt both of us.)

(I will... tell Rem,) he offered, clenching his teeth against the pain.

(Good idea,) Shyla replied, still gently searching over his body with her hands. He could feel a few injuries that he hoped she wouldn't find. He had a terrible sinking feeling that he would not wake from this one, so he fought to stay conscious as long as he could.

He tried to focus his thoughts. (Send help... to camp... one hour ... journey... Many... attacked. We don't... know why. They're hurt... cannot... follow. Careful ... when you... come.)

(Are you hurt?) Rem's thoughts were filled with concern.

(She's hurt... not bad,) he replied, trying to be calm inside while clenching his teeth outside. (Come quick... please...)

(We'll send someone right away,) Rem promised.

(Thank you,) he offered.

Then he cried out, for Shyla's probing had discovered another deep injury. Even though her fingers were extremely gentle, that wound was extremely sensitive. Again, it was all he could do to fight off the black that was encroaching on the edges of his vision.

He still needed to prevent her from following him into the darkness, before he lost consciousness.


	3. Fading Hope

_Vash the Stampede belongs to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow, not me._

_Approximately 3000 years after the manga ends..._

...

**Fading Hope**

(Mayfly,) he thought, (please... promise... nothing... rash!)

He saw her eyes move from his body to his face, and her expression grew more concerned. (What do you mean by that?) she asked.

(Just what... I asked,) he thought. (You are... precious... resource... this world... needs you.) His body tensed in a spasm from the pain.

_Shock soon_, he realized. _No escape_. He felt wounds on his back: liver, kidney, maybe heart. There were others, too, all bleeding.

_For me, no hope. Must make her see... help her want life, even ... if there's no me._

She closed her eyes, and he felt a surge of plant power rush through his body as she scanned him for injuries both external and internal. He saw her eyes open. He saw the expression of pain and horror that claimed her face.

(Can't fix... Don't try... Please... Children...) _please feel... my love... and live..._

(Our children need their father worse than they need me, just as this planet does,) she responded. Her tears flowed freely.

Her hands moved faster, but now her fingers trembled. She turned him onto his side and began swathing his body with bandages.

(Don't waste...) he protested feebly. _So hard... to think. Pain fades... cold comes. Not much... time left..._

(Nothing that helps you is a waste,) she responded firmly.

_She feels so strange... like when she cried...that night... and said she'd die... for me... no! Shyla can heal... if she... will let... me go... she must..._

(Live, please,) he wished her. (Need you...)

She leaned forward, placed her hands on either side of his face, and touched her forehead to his. He felt her consciousness knock on the door to his mind. He reflexively opened that door, and she extended a memory package through it.

He took the package, confused. (?) he thought.

She gently yet swiftly withdrew from his mind, and pulled her forehead a little bit away from his. While her face was still near, she gently kissed his mouth. Her fingers caressed his face.

(Now, no matter what happens, I shall always be with you,) she whispered into his mind.

He opened her package, and let it soak into his mind, but he made no attempt to process the memories she gave. _Not yet... maybe, never. My time... almost... done..._

She adjusted her position to lay beside him, her head on his right shoulder. Her right hand was still on his face, though the left had to move when she lay down beside him.

(Shyla... please... don't risk... yourself,) he pleaded. _Take all... my love... it's yours..._ (Don't make... them live... without... you!) He tried to push her away, but he was too weak.

_Cold fear... for her. Don't die! This risk... no good. No need. I die... you live... must stop... you... somehow..._

He felt her share her love with him, and then with the children.

_God, please... wisdom_, his heart prayed._ Must stop... Shyla... not risk... her life..._

(You are more important,) she thought. There was a sorrow blended in with the tenderness she shared.

(I'm not! Please, don't,) he begged.

(I must, dearest.) Her fingers caressed his skin, slipping from his face and down his throat until her hand rested over a pulse-point. (By saving you, I help everyone more than I ever could by living without you. I realized that long ago... You know how to love everyone, and they desperately need your love. Me... I only know how to love you.)

(Not true!) he protested.

(I will always love you, Vash,) she thought into his mind, and then she went limp.

(No!) _... too late._ Anguish flooded through his soul. _Failed you... no..._

He felt her mind going into stasis. She could not hear his thoughts.

_No way... to stop... you now... without... someone... to help..._

_If I... relax... maybe... there's time... for her..._

_Dear God, if time... for me... to die,_ his heart prayed, _I place... myself... into... Your hands... Please get... someone... in time ... save her!_

He sent his love to all of their children and descendants, as she had. He did not attempt to give separate messages, but instead simply shared all the love he had for all of them with all of them.

_Darkness... moves in... Can't push... it off... much more... Shyla's... pulses... make me... sleepy..._

(Rem, girl,) he thought, (Take care... young ones... I can't...)

_God, please... Shyla_...

He lost the battle against the encroaching darkness, and knew no more.


	4. Desperate Times

_Vash the Stampede belongs to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow, not me._

_Approximately 3000 years after the manga ends..._

...

**Desperate Times**

"Papa!" Rem said, her eyes suddenly gone wide.

Because of their father's message a few minutes ago, they were nearly finished and preparing to leave. Rem said he sounded bad, and they were all worried.

Naomi was increasingly nervous that they might not be leaving swiftly enough.

Since that message, she'd felt her mother's love go out, and knew it was directed at all of her siblings and not only at her. Then she felt the same from her father.

Her stomach felt like it just performed an anatomical impossibility. Something in their parents' emotions felt like a farewell. If so, that translated to very bad news.

Now her elder twin, Rem, looked at least as distressed as she felt.

(What is it?) Naomi asked.

(He thinks they're dying,) she replied, stricken. (And he's gone silent. We must fly to them, _now_. Get whatever energy our sisters will lend, and we'll leave. They can't have gone far.)

Naomi told the others, "Papa's hurt bad from that attack. We're going to him _now_. Follow as you can!"

She sprinted out of the surgical room, since the human doctors had that situation well in hand. She wasn't needed for that. She might be needed very badly by her parents.

She ran to the power plant with Rem close behind. She began asking the orb-sister if she had anything to spare, just as she heard all of her orb-sisters begin a lament for "red brother" and "blue sister."

(Help me so that I may help them,) Naomi pleaded.

(Yes, we will give you strength,) the two orb sisters in the town said.

As soon as they were outside, Rem caught her by the waist and flew her to the plant. She placed her hands on each orb in turn, and the sister within came and pressed her palms against the glasslike surface. Naomi had never contained this much extra energy before. She feared that every bit of it would be needed.

As soon as she withdrew her hands, Rem caught her waist again and leaped. She flew them out over the town toward the desert.

Naomi was glad that their father had shared memories of his one flight, so that Rem knew how to extend flight-capable wings. The fact that he'd shared those memories might save his life today.

...

It seemed to take forever to find the camp, even though they knew which direction their parents had taken. Naomi tried to calm herself. She knew panic wouldn't help. It was only her worry that made the flight seem endless; Rem was actually moving very swiftly.

Two tents were set up at the selected site, and various other unassembled camping supplies were scattered around. There were many injured people lying about on the ground. Behind a sand dune on the town-side of the camp, there was an assortment of vehicles that had brought those people to this place.

Their parents were not there, so Rem did not land but instead looked for the footprint trail that would lead to their parents. It was just windy enough that the trail had faded significantly, but not quite enough that they failed to find it.

They landed, and Naomi laid a hand on each of her parents. She examined each with a quick plant-power scan, and gasped.

(He is very badly injured,) she informed Rem. (One lung is collapsed, he has stab wounds to liver, intestines, a kidney, and I think possibly even his heart was scraped... she's not hurt as badly, but she went into stasis to try to heal him. I think the best I can do is to join the stasis with the donations from our orb sisters. You know how to wake me, correct?)

(Yes,) Rem responded.

(Call our other family healers,) she thought. (We will need to take turns, to save him without harming ourselves from overdoing it. I won't try to wake her yet.)

(Understood,) Rem's thought held love and worried concern.

(I'll be all right,) Naomi tried to be reassuring. (Just wake me by this time tomorrow, ok?)

(I will do that,) Rem thought.

Naomi could feel Rem sending out messages to others as she positioned herself to have a hand on each parent's skin. She smiled at her sister, and then felt her body go limp as she began to sink somewhere deep within herself. All the energy in her body would now focus entirely on healing the two whose skin she touched.

...

She woke to find Rem's tear-streaked face leaning over her. Both of her hands were held against Rem's neck. She'd kept her promise, and wakened her from the trance.

Naomi sat up and looked around. She saw that she'd been laying on a gurney beside another gurney that held both of her parents. They were still unconscious, and still tightly entangled with each other.

On the far side of her parents' gurney was a third, upon which her brother Alex lay. His hand was on their father's neck. He was taking her place, being the second stasis healer.

Beyond Alex, Nicholas stood. Like Rem, his face was tear-streaked. When she looked again, she could see traces of recent tears glistening on Alex's face, also.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Our parents were not the only ones attacked," Nicholas replied. "Most of our family is dead. Lina and Tessla are coming. Twenty of the youngest boys were captured, and ten of the youngest girls. As far as we can tell, everyone else is... gone."

Naomi gasped, clasping one hand over her mouth. She reached out with her mind and emotions, and felt a vast silence and emptiness where family had been. The faint carrier wave of mutual affection that had been there was missing. Sheryl, Brad, Livio, Milly, William, Tonis, Carl, Kaite, Luida, Frank... so many!

She reached out to every relative, biological and adopted, one at a time. There seemed to be a very slight flicker when she reached for four of them. The others, nearly 400 of them, were all completely silent. She found no indication, however faint, that any one else might still be alive.

Outside of that room, and Lina and Tessla, there were only the thirty stolen children: ten girls and twenty boys. She could feel their fear. She sent what reassurance she could, very briefly, before her heartache became too great and she lost the capacity to comfort them.

So many dear souls were missing from among her immediate siblings. There was an aching silence in place of the in-laws and younger generations, too, just as Nicholas had said. It hurt terribly: even worse than when Grandma Rem had died.

There had been no warning for this. As much as Grandma Rem's death had hurt, they'd long known it was coming. Grandma Rem had died peacefully of old age, in Vash's arms. He told them that she'd smiled with her last breath.

Everyone who died today was younger than she, and had been healthy and expected to live for many centuries - perhaps even millennia. The suddenness, the violence, and the number of loved ones ... it was almost too much to absorb.

She'd initially hoped that her brother was mistaken. She'd hoped it wasn't real. But the deafening silence where their emotional echoes should have been left no room for doubt.

Tears streamed down her face. How could anyone do such a terrible thing?

"Why?" she asked, devastated.

"We don't know," Rem said. "We only know that they are dead. Most did not have time to send love and farewells, as Papa and Mama tried to do."

"What of the missing children?" Naomi asked.

"Sheriff Central has been informed," Nicholas said. "My wife..." his voice broke for a moment. With a visible effort, he got himself back under control. "My wife died trying to prevent some of the abductions. The children were not attacked with knives, but with nets. We don't know yet where they were taken."

Naomi got off her gurney, took the few steps needed to reach her brother's side, and hugged him. She felt his arms and his gratitude wrap around her in response.

"Somehow, we will find out," Rem vowed. "The injured people who attacked our parents all wore arm bands with crooked leaf symbols drawn on them. They will be questioned. However, a troubling detail is that there were also cut pieces of net there. It appears that they intended to capture one of our parents, and kill the other."

"Where are we now, and how long have I slept?" Naomi asked, gently letting go of Nicholas. She realized that she wasn't in the hospital where she'd been working for the last week and more. She didn't immediately recognize this place.

"We're in the Seeds ship, at the village," Rem said. "They felt this was the safest place for us. We're in the secondary infirmary, instead of the main one. Most of the Seeds villagers have forgotten that it exists. Very few know we are here. And you were only in stasis for about 26 hours."

Naomi nodded. So many attacks, in such a short time... it couldn't be a coincidence. Someone wanted to exterminate their family, and possibly all independent plants.

"The other independents, are they also ...?" Naomi could not bring herself to say the word.

"Many of them were also attacked and killed," Nicholas said. "We know of three others who survived, ladies that work for Sheriff Central. They are being sent here. Beyond that, right now, nobody's sure."

Naomi nodded, and then wobbled. Rem caught her.

"You need rest," she said, and gestured to a doorway.

The indicated room contained fourteen cots, arranged with half the headboards against the left wall, and the other seven headboards against the right wall. There was an aisle between the footboards wide enough for two people to pass without bumping into each other. That aisle lined up with the doorway into the room. The first and last cots in each row were against the end walls; between the other cots, there were narrow end tables.

Three of the cots looked as if they had been used recently, suggesting that her siblings had already spent one night there. Those three were immediately to the left of the doorway, as one walked in.

"Lina and Tessla should arrive by nightfall," Rem said. "Tessla can take a turn helping with Papa and Mama, after she visits the ship's orb sister. We've been asked to stay in the ship, and mostly stay in this infirmary, for now."

Naomi nodded, understanding. "They don't want an attack here."

"No, they don't," Rem said. "It appears as if those few of us who survived are still alive because we were not where we were expected to be at the time of the attacks. Both Seeds Village and Sheriff Central are trying to keep our survival a secret."

She helped Naomi to a cot beside one of the mussed ones, probably her own.

"Thank you," Naomi said to her twin, and then collapsed onto the bed. She was soon asleep.

...

When she woke, she saw an angry blonde woman sitting on a cot opposite her own. "Hello?" she said sleepily.

The woman nodded curtly. Her expression remained grim.

From the strength of her emotional echoes, this woman must also be a plant. "I don't think we've met?" Naomi offered.

"I'm Chronica," she said. She had an unusual accent. Naomi couldn't place it, but that wasn't important right now.

"I'm Naomi," she said. "Pleased to meet you, though I could wish the circumstances were different." Chronica was one of the many independent plants with whom her mother maintained correspondence. She was the only one that Naomi had never previously met.

"Agreed about the circumstances," Chronica said. Then her eyes narrowed. "You have an ear loop radio? Would you use it to send a message?"

"I can speak to Seeds people," she said. "They can relay it further, if needful."

"Sheriff Central seems to be overlooking the fact that they must have a mole," Chronica said. "Two of our sisters were waylaid and slain before they could board the truck that would have brought them here. Sheriff Central should send any other surviving independent plants somewhere else, instead of gathering us all into one place for the hunters to kill."

Naomi relayed that to Rem, Nicholas and Lina telepathically. "My siblings agree with you, the ones in law enforcement," she said. "They will relay your message where they think it will do the most good."

Chronica nodded, and then said, "Your parents deserve a better fate than this."

"We're doing all we can," Naomi said.

"You need to wake your mother," she said. "Her hair is blackening. The ones in the other room were in too big a hurry to shove me in here. They wouldn't listen."

Naomi's eyes widened and she hurried to the other room, past the cot where Alex was sleeping. She looked at her mother's hair, and found that Chronica was correct.

"Mama's hair," she said aloud, alerting her three wakeful siblings to the situation.

The black streak at her temple had widened until it reached her neck, and from there had apparently worked its way around the back of her head. She'd seen pictures of her father with black hair all around his head, but with the top still blonde. Now her mother's hair was following a similar pattern.

"We need to wake her," Naomi said. She went to where her parents lay, and did not disturb Tessla who lay touching her father's neck and her mother's hand. She gently eased her mother's hand off her father's neck, and out from under Tessla's. Then she placed her mother's hand against her own neck.

She closed her eyes, and tried to match rhythm with her mother's energy pulses. It had not worked perfectly when she joined her parents in stasis earlier, but it had been close enough that she could help heal.

Several minutes passed.

They'd all practiced matching rhythms with their mother when she trained them in healing. They'd all wakened her, and each other, multiple times. Why was it not working now?

Naomi felt the icy grip of fear clench around her inner organs. She waited longer, hoping she was mistaken. But there was no change.

She opened her eyes, and looked at Rem.

"Shouldn't she be waking up by now?" Rem asked uncertainly.

"She should, but she's not," Naomi said.

Chronica came into the room, frowning. "He still has a very few blonde hairs," she said. "If her hair all goes black..."

"We know," Naomi said. As she watched helplessly, a narrow swath on the top of her mother's head turned black. "We have to do something... quickly."

She placed her mother's hand back on her father's neck, and wrung her hands. Except for her mother, she was the senior healer present. She had no idea what to do.

Chronica walked to a wall, and pressed a half-concealed control. A panel slid aside, and an empty cryo cylinder slid out.

Naomi looked at it blankly for a moment, and then looked at her mother. A few more hairs turned black as she watched.

"Prep it," she said. "Make sure it's fully functional first. Then we'll move her, if we still can't wake her."

Nicholas stepped into the other room and woke his younger twin. Alex came out, tousle-headed, and scratching at the back of his neck. Of them all, he was the one who looked and sounded the most like their father. Except for having their mother's eye color, at a glance he could easily have been mistaken for their father in his younger years... before his hair blackened.

(Your brother?) Naomi heard Chronica's mental voice.

(Yes,) she replied.

Naomi looked at Chronica, and saw her staring with her mouth slightly open. She was very slowly moving toward Alex, with one hand slightly extended.

"Alex, meet Chronica," Naomi said, hoping the introduction might help.

He turned and grinned. "Pleased to meet you," he said and extended a hand.

Chronica nodded, and then hesitated before shaking his hand. She had quickly composed her face as he turned. Then she released his hand. She looked at their father, sleeping with his injuries, and back at Alex. "Strong family resemblance," she said dryly. "For a moment, I almost thought your father was in two places at once."

Alex chuckled. "Yeah, people who know both of us sometimes think we wear wigs and swap places. But our different eye colors would ruin that if we tried it. So why'd you wake me?"

Naomi looked at Nicholas, who had a speculative expression on his face. (Can you tell if Chronica is, maybe, mildly infatuated with Papa?) His thoughts whispered into Naomi's mind. (We hurried her out of here earlier, because of the way she looked at him.)

(I begin to wonder,) she replied. (Usually Mama's pen pals come and visit regularly, but she never has. So I don't know.)

(We'll have to watch her, just in case,) Nicholas thought. (Especially around Mama.)

(Agreed,) Naomi thought. However, _if_ this independent female plant did have an interest in her father, the fact that she'd stayed away spoke well for her. (For now, let's get Mama either wakened or safely into cryo.)

(Aye,) Nicholas thought.

Naomi gestured at their parents, and then at the cryo tube. "I can't wake Mama," she told Alex. "Her hair is going black as she's trying to heal Papa. If we can't change that, we need to get her into cryo. Do you want to try waking her... since I failed? I'll do checks on the cryo unit, and make sure it's ready for her, in case she needs it."

Alex nodded. His face and eyes showed concern as he reached for their mother.

Naomi went to the cryo unit. "Chronica, you seem to know something about these," she said. "Would you help me verify that it's fully functional?"

She looked at the elder plant, and found her still fascinated by Alex. She touched Chronica's arm, and the woman startled. "Help me check this out, please?" she said.

"Of course," Chronica said.

They got into the technicalities, and soon found it only needed a handful of minor adjustments to be ready. Unfortunately, during that time, more of their mother's remaining blonde hair had turned black.

"I can't wake her either," Alex said, sounding heartbroken.

"Let's both try," Naomi suggested.

(Nicholas, keep an eye on that cryo tube... and Chronica. Please,) she thought.

(On it,) he replied. He moved over to the tube, and quietly asked Chronica for a lesson in how it worked. "If more of us know how to monitor it, that's better. Right?" he said.

Naomi and Alex both worked to ease their mother away from their father. Then they placed her hands on their own necks, hoping that if she felt a healthy body that the stasis would break even if their rhythm matching was imperfect. Unfortunately, that did not happen.

"We'll have to put her in cryo," Naomi said sadly. "I don't know if..." her voice broke as she fought to avoid crying when she needed to think.

"It's the best we can do for now," Alex said huskily.

Between them, they carried her to the tube and laid her in it. Then they gently closed the unit, and worked the controls that initiated the freezing process. As she began to freeze, a little more of her hair turned black. Slightly more than two finger-widths of blonde remained above her temple, by where there had previously been a three-finger-width swath of black in a sea of gold.

She was alive, for now. Naomi didn't know if they'd ever be able to wake her. She let her tears flow, now that her mother was as safe as possible under the circumstances.

"We should put it back into the wall," Chronica suggested. "The fewer who know, the safer she will be."

"That includes Papa," Naomi said firmly through her tears. "Don't torture him with a hope that may prove false, if he wakes."

She felt the reluctant agreement from her siblings. She turned to Chronica.

"You're seriously asking me to tell him that his wife is dead, if he wakes?" she said, incredulous.

"When he wakes," Naomi said firmly, "Yes. We tried to wake her, but we could not. She hasn't much blonde hair left. If the only result of thawing her out would be to watch her die and wither, why put him through that agony? Would you want to see that happen to someone you loved?"

Chronica shivered. "No," she said softly. Her shoulders drooped very slightly. "I will do as you say, though I don't like it."

"Thank you," Naomi said.


	5. Awkward Times

_Vash the Stampede belongs to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow, not me._

_Approximately 3000 years after the manga ends..._

...

**Awkward Times**

It took four weeks of the three of them rotating on six-hour shifts, and accepting gifts of energy from the orb-sisters, before their father's stasis broke spontaneously. They all breathed a sigh of relief, for that meant his body could finish healing without the aid of stasis.

He would recover. It would take time, and they might need to do some regenerative healing to help his body along. But soon or late, he would get better. He would live.

Naomi was torn. Part of her wanted to celebrate her father's survival. Part of her wanted to mourn her many lost relatives. She didn't know whether she wanted to smile or cry.

It was several hours after stasis broke before their father awoke.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he showed that brief confusion that was usual for anyone who'd been comatose for any length of time. Then his face showed an awareness of his physical pain.

"Shyla?" it was barely a whisper. Before anyone could respond, something in his eyes changed. He lifted his right arm, his hand and fingers extended, shaking with physical weakness and reaching... "Shyla!" he cried out, his voice anguished.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Naomi said gently. Her voice wavered as tears filled her eyes.

"No!" he said, brokenly. He closed his eyes and wept.

His heartache was so plain even in that one softly-spoken syllable that Naomi began sobbing. She poured her love into him from where she stood by his head. She gently stroked his hair, and kissed his forehead.

Rem, Nicholas Alex, Lina and Tessla also came near, and touched him, trying to help comfort him. All of her surviving siblings were sharing their love for him with him, in addition to touching him. They hoped these things would help to comfort him.

Naomi noticed that Chronica stood back, staying in the doorway of the "dormitory" room where they slept. However, stray gleams of light showed that she also had wet cheeks.

If they could help him bear the loss of their mother, perhaps they could also help him when he learned of the loss of nearly all of their family.

Naomi bent to kiss his forehead again. Then she leaned her cheek against his forehead, where she'd kissed him, and wept with him.

He cried himself back to sleep in just under half an hour.

...

The next time he woke, he didn't move or speak. He merely opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Occasionally, a tear would trickle down the side of his face, but that was all.

His children fluttered around him like a flock of mother hens, but he continued to lie there passively. He said and did nothing.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then they wheeled Vash's gurney into the dormitory. They transferred him off the gurney onto a cot.

Somehow, the other room, where Shyla slept - perhaps forever - began to feel strange. The dormitory was more comfortable for them, so they hoped it might have the same effect on him.

Yet he lay staring bleakly at the ceiling as he had before.

Naomi wasn't sure what to do. Her father had always been so lively. His eyes were always sparkling with joy or else twinkling with mischief or else shining with his gentle affection for others. He'd always loved life, even when he had injuries that needed mending. He was one of those who could find the bright lining on every dust cloud.

Was he so badly injured that he had no strength to live beyond breathing and waking? Or was he so heartbroken that he'd lost the will? Seeing his eyes so bleak and empty hurt as much or more than anything else that had happened recently.

Her thoughts wandered back to her childhood, when she'd first begun attending school with ordinary human children. They had teased her mercilessly about being a "daddy's girl" one day, and she had stopped on the way home to cry.

Her mama had found her, and sat beside her, and put her arm around her in a gently comforting manner. At the time, Naomi had no idea how Shyla discovered the problem. Looking back, she guessed maybe Rem had told her. However it happened, her mama knew exactly why she was crying.

"I feel sorry for them," her mama had said.

This had surprised Naomi enough that she blinked up at her mama through her tears. "But they were so mean!" she had protested. "Why do you feel sorry for them, and not for me?"

"You're blessed," Shyla had said. "You have a _very_ special papa. Anybody would love him and be proud of him. He's so very good, and kind, and wise. He can do just about anything except a long drive, and I think that's because the engine droning makes him too sleepy to concentrate (though please don't tell him I said that)."

Then she'd sighed sadly. "Their papas, who probably do their best, just aren't that wonderful. So they must look like they aren't as good, no matter how hard they try, when their children compare them to your papa."

She'd hugged Naomi again, and said, "The other children tease you because they're jealous of you. They let it hurt them that their papas are different, even though they may be wonderful in other ways. So yes, I do feel sorry for them. I also feel sorry for their papas. Not everyone can be as wonderful as Vash."

Those words had reshaped her thinking, and helped her feel better. She did have a wonderful papa. She looked at him again, and tried to think of how she could help him to see how wonderful he was. He needed to want to live, and she feared he'd lost that.

She lay on her cot, arranging herself so she could see him as she rested. She fell asleep watching him lay there so motionlessly, and thinking about how she could help him heal in his heart.

...

When she woke, she saw Chronica sitting on her usual bunk. The woman was staring first at her father, and then at Alex, and then looking at her father again.

Naomi was well aware that the two looked alike, but this amount of attention seemed a bit extreme even for comparing their resemblances. Thankfully, both seemed asleep; so she hoped that neither of them was troubled by Chronica's examination.

"Ample," Chronica whispered, very softly.

"What?" Naomi asked.

Chronica startled. "I didn't know you were awake," she said. "I was getting... hungry. Did I see an apple orchard in the town?"

"Yes, we have an apple orchard," Naomi said. She thought to herself how the word Chronica said had sounded slightly different from "apple," but she decided not to press the issue. She guessed that the other woman did not wish to discuss whatever had really been on her mind.

"I wonder if they'd mind bringing us a few apples," Chronica said. "It's been a while since I had any fresh fruit."

"I think it's too early for any of this year's crop to be ripe yet," Naomi said. "There might be some left in storage from last year, though."

"I guess I'll need to wait for my treat, then," Chronica said absently. She was staring at Alex again. "Not ripe yet," she repeated softly, and her brows drew together in a thoughtful grown.

Something in Chronica's emotional echoes felt strange to Naomi, but she also caught loneliness. That part, at least, she understood.

"Alex's freckle is a bit lower than Papa's," Naomi said. "So even if they wore wigs and kept their eyes closed, they can be told apart."

"Is that the only difference?" Chronica asked. She sounded like an odd blend of bored and amused, but her emotional echoes were different... more like fascinated.

"Alex is a healer, and Papa is a lawman," Naomi began.

Chronica began chuckling. "Yes, he is a lawman now," she said. "That wasn't always true. For more than a century, he was a hunted outlaw."

Shocked, Naomi opened her mouth to deny such an outrageous lie. But she was interrupted.

(It's true,) her father's thoughts whispered gently. (Please, don't ask now. If I live, I'll tell you about it another time.)

(I love you,) she thought to him. (It doesn't matter who you were.)

(I love you too, sweetie,) his thoughts replied.

She got off her cot, and went to make sure his blankets covered him adequately. It felt a little chilly to her, and she wanted to make sure he was warm enough.

"Don't fuss over him too much," Chronica said. "You'll wake him. He needs rest to heal."

"I won't wake him," Naomi said confidently.

He hadn't opened his eyes, and he was not broadcasting or even leaking any emotions. He held his grief inside very tightly. She hadn't known he was awake, so it was small wonder that Chronica had not guessed. Naomi decided if he didn't want her to know, she wasn't going to tell.

"Perhaps we should go talk in the cafeteria?" she suggested.

It wasn't really a cafeteria, but it had been dubbed so just as the room they were currently in was dubbed the dormitory. The room she suggested they move into had a food dispenser slot and a table and chairs. It was separate from the larger room where her parents were initially taken.

She guessed that the largest room, where Shyla now slept concealed, was either an intensive care area or an operating theater, or perhaps both. The attached rooms included a washroom complete with toilets and showers, the dormitory, the cafeteria, and a storage room. Those five rooms became their world over the last few weeks, ever since the attacks.

Most of the inhabitants of those five rooms were beginning to feel a bit of "cabin fever" from being so tightly confined. It didn't help to know that the fate of thirty plant children remained unknown, and that they could do nothing to aid them while they must remain so completely hidden.

Suddenly she felt the edges of a strong mental probe. It hadn't quite reached them yet, though it was moving toward them. Whoever wielded it was sloppy enough to be detectable slightly outside of their target area, at least by someone who was particularly sensitive to such things. Tessla might also detect it, since her abilities nearly equaled Naomi's. Shyla was slightly more sensitive, but currently she could sense nothing.

Naomi couldn't immediately define how, but she sensed hostility in it. Something about it reminded her of when Knives had come, and how he had pushed at their minds during the six months before he was moved away to a different prison. The relocation had left them outside of his immediate range of influence, and that had been a tremendous relief. Aside from their mother, she was the most sensitive to such things within their family.

"Everyone, into stasis, for ten minutes, _now_!" she called.

Stasis would hide their minds. She hoped ten minutes would be long enough. Longer would be difficult or dangerous on such short notice.

She immediately snatched a blanket from her own cot and climbed onto her father's cot. She lay beside him, to his left and on top of his blankets. She spread her own blanket over both of them. (I'll help you, and make sure you come out of it,) she thought to her father.

(Thank you,) he thought.

She laid her hand on his neck, pulled him into her rhythm, noticed briefly that Chronica had laid herself down on her own cot, before she went limp.

...

She awoke to the sensation of the same mental probe fading away. It must have swept this area, failed to find them, and begun to move on.

"Oh thank God," she breathed.

(That felt almost like Knives,) her papa thought.

(But isn't he...?)

(Long dead,) he affirmed.

(Did he have students?)

(Not that I ever knew of, except Legato. I ... killed him.) His thoughts came with intense guilt and sorrow.

She hugged him. (I'm sure you did what was best, or needed doing,) she thought.

(I hope so,) was his reply. She felt him share love with her, and she reciprocated.

"That felt almost... familiar," Chronica said.

As Naomi carefully got off her father's bed, pulling her blanket with her, she saw Chronica sit up and turn to look at him.

"Well?" she said, as if impatient for a reply.

"Seeds Village obtained a few hairs from his corpse," her papa said. "They tested those against mine. That confirmed his identity, and that would have been sufficient even without the security footage."

"So no corpse swap," Chronica seemed to be thinking out loud. "Did he have students?"

"None that I know of," he said. "However, much can happen in ten years. If he had guards willing to aid him, he may also have taken on a student."

"Marvelous," Chronica said sarcastically. "I've grown glad that I didn't kill both of you, but I'm still sorry that I didn't kill him."

By this time, Naomi had returned her blanket to her bed. Chronica's last words made her gasp in surprise. "You tried to..." she sputtered.

"Yes," her papa said. "And she nearly succeeded. But we both survived."

His words were as dull as his eyes. They were flat monotones that could only be connected with him because she saw his mouth move. It made her heart ache, seeing and hearing him like this.

"It means we dare not send further love to the children," she said sadly. "We may be detected."

"And it could lead to the children being punished," Nicholas said from the doorway. "Tessla said you yelled for us to go into stasis to dodge some kind of a mind probe?"

"Yes," Naomi said. "It was strong, hostile, and sloppy. While it's slightly possible a human somehow acquired those abilities, it is more likely an independent plant like us."

"Not like us," Chronica said. "Like Knives."

Everyone else had followed Nicholas into the dormitory, and were distributing themselves among the cots. Everyone shivered, except Tessla who had been completely protected by their mother during the days when Knives was incarcerated nearby.

"Children?" Vash said. His voice changed enough to make the word a question.

She tried not to pounce upon this first sign of interest. He'd always had a special place in his heart for children.

"Yes, Papa," she said. "You and Mama were not the only ones they attacked. They took thirty of our youngest kin: twenty boys and ten girls. Sheriff Central tells us to stay here and hide, since other adults were killed, but it's hard to stay here knowing the children need us."

He began to struggle to sit up. Naomi rushed to his side, and assisted. He shook in her arms, from weakness. She had to blink rapidly several times to avoid crying. He didn't need that right now. Instead, he needed to gather his own strength.

"They were captured deliberately?" He asked, breathing heavily from his unaccustomed exertion. "Not merely as hostages to help someone get away?"

"Yes," Rem said angrily. "The attackers brought nets, and some of the adults they murdered lived long enough to send messages."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and frowned. He had to lean against Naomi's arm and shoulder to catch his breath. "They came after me with a net, too," he said. "We can't stay hidden. I can be bait."

"No Papa!" Naomi protested.

"I failed her," he said. "Even if they capture me, it won't matter. I'm worthless now."

"You're not God, Papa," Nicholas stated. "You can't protect everyone. What happened to Mama was the fault of those who attacked you, or whoever ordered the attack. You nearly died trying to protect her. Don't blame yourself for someone else's sins."

"He's right, Papa," Naomi whispered softly into his ear. "Please, don't blame yourself. They did this terrible thing. You didn't."

She felt him squeeze her arm, but he said nothing in reply. "They have our children," he said. "They may not know we're alive. We know they want me. We don't know why, but even knowing _that_ they want me gives us an advantage. We shouldn't waste it."

"They must be stopped," Lina agreed vehemently. She and Tessla had each lost a twin in the massacre.

"Not as vengeance, Lina," their father said softly. "Do it for justice, and for love of those who will be protected. Don't become like the attackers."

Lina's fair complexion flushed crimson. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said contritely. "It just hurts so bad..."

"I know," he said.

For the first time, he began to look at each person in the room. He allowed some of his grief out just enough to reach each of them, in turn. Naomi could see the physical reactions as each of her siblings staggered beneath the crushing weight of his pain. She understood that he was sharing it one-on-one to prevent eavesdropping.

His lifted his eyes to look at her face, and she tried to brace herself. Even with that, her knees buckled as his grief touched her. She caught herself against him and his cot.

"I'm so sorry Papa," she whispered. She buried her face in his hair, which somehow still smelled like desert winds instead of the infirmary. She felt his hand squeeze her forearm.

"This is not yet the time for tears," he said softly. "We must rescue the children first. Then we can all mourn with them."

"It is possible," Rem said shakily, "that the epicenter is the town where we were. Every other attack was done with ten or fewer attackers. There were more than fifty that came after you and Mama. The other Seeds doctors said that even more came after Naomi and I, but we'd already left to look for you."

Naomi turned her head to investigate an unexpected sound. It was Chronica, sniffling. Before she could say anything, she heard her father's thoughts.

(I shared with her, too,) he informed her. (She needed to know, as badly as your siblings, that she's not the only one in pain.)

(I understand,) Naomi replied. She was a little surprised, but she had noticed the non-relative plant was in pain. His inclusion of her made sense, as soon as he explained it.

"Sheriff Central may have been infiltrated," Nicholas said. "Nearly all who died or were taken were exactly where Sheriff Central expected them to be at the time they were attacked."

That warning did not fall on deaf ears. Naomi saw her father frown. "Leave your badges here, then," he said softly. "We're off duty until the children are safe."

Rem, Nicholas, Alex, Lina, Tessla and Chronica all nodded. Naomi agreed also.

"First, Papa, you need to recover a little better," she said. "We can help, if you'll permit us. You must be able to walk unassisted."

She saw him grimace, and then nod. "See if our sisters have surplus energy," he said softly. "We can't wait until I recover on my own."


	6. Preparations

_Vash the Stampede and Chronica belong to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow._

_Approximately 3000 years after the manga ends..._

...

**Preparations**

Naomi sat on the edge of her father's cot, pouring energy gifted from orb sisters into healing his wounds. Suddenly, he caught her wrists.

"Don't worry about scars," he said. "Don't waste our sisters' gifts. Just make me functional. I don't need to be pretty." Though his tone was light, almost playful, his emotional echoes were serious.

She gently disengaged her hands from his grip, and looked into his eyes. They were still far less lively than usual, but at least he was looking out of them again. That was a vast improvement over the empty stare she'd seen when he first waked after learning Shyla was gone. "Mother was right," Naomi said gently. "You are beautiful."

He blushed from his hair-roots to his ears to a little past his collar bones. "Your mother was occasionally prone to exaggeration, where I was concerned," he said softly.

Naomi shook her head as she reached toward yet another stab wound. "Not about this," she said firmly.

"I'm inclined to agree," Alex said. He was working on some of their father's lower-torso wounds as Naomi worked on the ones nearer to his shoulders. "There's a beauty to your spirit, Papa. It shines through sometimes, and makes everything about you beautiful. I hope, some day, I will resemble that about you, too."

Vash bowed his head, and sat silently while his children continued healing him.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door into the infirmary area. Naomi felt a joy-spike from her siblings. She had to stop what she was doing, so that she didn't accidentally injure their beloved father. She glanced at Alex, who was also looking up.

She stood, thinking of walking to the other room to see what all the noise was about. However, there was no need. Everyone came spilling through the doorway, with one addition: Frank Marlon Saverem, the eldest of her adopted brothers.

He was less slender than her biological brothers, both in face and in build. His eyes were the color of the desert sands. His hair was a deeper shade of gold than most of her biological siblings had. His broad, callused hands were gentle yet capable in ways that often reminded Naomi poignantly of her father's single natural hand.

Frank usually seemed as much her brother as any of her other brothers, including the ones who were also related by blood. He had thoroughly accepted the family's value system; though unlike most of her biological brothers, he'd chosen to become a plant engineer. Seeds village was his home, yet he occasionally traveled to assist other towns or cities. He'd been out on such a visit on the day of the attacks.

She stood rooted to the spot, and her heart skipped a beat. Frank was one of the four from whom she'd thought she sensed a very faint flicker of response when she searched for survivors. She'd feared that was only her imagination, though. How...?

His expression changed when he saw her. "Naomi!" was all he said. Then he was smiling and pulling her into the aisle, and into his arms. He swung her in a circle as he hugged her tightly.

"Thank God you're alive," he whispered into her ear as he swung her around. When he set her back on her feet, his mouth was pressing against hers in a distinctly un-brotherly way.

At first, she was so startled that she scarcely knew what was happening. Then her hands slowly moved of their own accord: up over his arms and shoulders, and then around and behind his neck.

When he pulled his face back a little, he did not release her nor even loosen his hold. She felt heat in her face, but when she looked into his eyes and saw him smiling at her... she also found herself smiling. It was _so_ very good to see and feel him, and to know that he was alive and well.

"You're alive," she said softly. "Oh, I am glad!"

Alex came and slapped Frank's shoulder. "Me too," he said. "Though I'll admit that I am curious how you managed it."

"I was out doing plant inspection rounds, checking on our sisters," Frank said. He was answering Alex, but he kept looking at Naomi. "I felt the love sent from Mama and Papa, and then I heard our orb sisters' lament. I had a really bad feeling. I worried that I might be over-reacting, but something wasn't right and I couldn't fix it by myself."

"So I... well, I hid by the nearest orb with one of our sisters in it," he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. "I put myself into stasis for three days' time. As I sank into stasis, I prayed I'd be found by a friend. Thankfully, I was."

"Thank God," Vash said softly.

"Papa!" Frank exclaimed. He let go of Naomi to go to Vash and clasp his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice you sitting there," he said.

"I got that impression," Vash said. A faint ghost of a smile played about his mouth. "I don't mind being overlooked, though," he added, "since you hadn't finished greeting everyone else yet."

Naomi felt almost more disoriented by being released from Frank's embrace than she had been when he pulled her into his arms. She blinked a few times, and then walked back toward their father. She should finish healing him...

She reached toward her father, but he caught her wrist. "Oh no you don't," he said. "You're far too distracted to do that correctly right now. Give the remaining donated energy to Tessla, and she can finish. You go help Frank settle in and catch up."

Naomi felt more heat in her face, but she did not protest. She gladly did as she was told.

...

Frank chose the cot against the back wall, on the right side. He'd pulled Naomi beside him when he sat on it. He continued to sit, with an arm around her, as Nicholas sat opposite and told him everything they had learned... except for Shyla being in cryo sleep.

The others, except for Alex and Tessla who still worked on their father, all gathered around and participated in the conversation.

"How terrible," Frank said, when Nicholas finished. "So we're just waiting for Papa to be well enough, before we go out and do something?"

"That's about where things stand, yes," Nicholas said. He was the most practical-minded of them all, and could sometimes be overly blunt.

"What can I do?" Frank asked. "I took Papa's combat classes, the same as everyone else. But I'm not sure how I'd do in a real combat situation. I never had to do that before."

"How good are you at sensing other plants?" Nicholas asked.

"I'm good at that," Chronica said from just behind him. "That's why I was sent here."

Nicholas nearly jumped. "That's good," he said. "We'll need all the help we can with finding that mind-prober. While it does seem likely that individual is a plant, we need to be prepared either way."

"It is a plant," Chronica said. "I've been looking, since we evaded the probe."

"Did you know I was coming?" Frank asked curiously.

"Yes," she said. "But I also knew you weren't the enemy I was seeking."

"Are there any others still alive, besides us and the children?" Naomi asked softly.

"Three who are not enemies, besides the frightened children," Chronica said. "However, those three are either badly injured, asleep, sedated, or else in stasis. Their readings are extremely faint."

So maybe she hadn't imagined it. "William, Tonis, and Jared," she said. "I thought I sensed something from them, and Frank, when I checked."

"You said three that are not enemies," Rem said from where she stood by the foot-ends of the cots.

"Correct," Chronica said. "I can sense one strong enemy who is most likely the one that tried to probe us. The other reading is strange, as if not full-strength. Or perhaps the weaker-minded individual is some manner of hybrid."

"Thank you for that information," Nicholas said. (Is it my imagination, or is Chronica staring at _me_ now?) he asked Naomi.

(I... I'm sorry, I hadn't noticed,) she replied. She felt heat in her face again.

Nicholas' response was to send feelings of amusement.

She felt more heat in her face, and glared at him.

Nicholas - almost - grinned.

So far, nobody had said anything about the way her relationship with Frank seemed to be changing. She wasn't quite sure if she believed it herself, yet; she was almost afraid she would wake up to discover it had only been a dream. She had never allowed herself to hope or even imagine that such a wonderful thing could happen to her - with anyone.

She'd always loved Frank, and perhaps even favored him slightly among her brothers. This change would take a little time to get used to... though she already felt within herself that she *could* get used to it.

She remembered her mother having "the talk" with herself and her sister, Rem. She told them how things like fearing for a loved one's life, or believing them dead, or seeing them do something wonderful, could awaken romantic feelings. She warned them not to allow truly close friendships with normal humans; and that was not because humans were lesser creatures, but because their brief lifespans resulted in so much pain when they died.

Thankfully, Frank was not an ordinary human but instead a plant like herself.

Naomi pulled herself out of daydreaming with an effort, and considered her not-quite-grinning brother. (I'll try to watch more closely,) she offered.

(Thanks,) Nicholas responded.

"Perhaps Frank could drive?" Naomi suggested. She flicked her gaze toward where Alex and Tessla were finishing up healing their father.

Everyone but Chronica immediately had trouble with coughing or sneezing or some other effect that came from trying to suppress laughter. It was the first merriment most of them had enjoyed since the day of the massacre.

Chronica looked puzzled, but said nothing.

"Not a bad idea," Nicholas said.

"I can do that," Frank agreed.

...

Alex and Tessla tried to get their father to rest awhile after they finished regenerating his tissues where he'd been wounded. They had about as much success as Naomi and her mother had in keeping him off his feet several years ago, immediately following an accident when someone had knocked a tall ladder out from under him and he'd fallen and broken his leg.

Frank was resting, holding her hand. She squeezed his hand, and he opened his eyes. She tipped her head toward their father's cot, and raised an eyebrow. He rose and walked with her.

As the two of them sat on the cot beside Vash's, Naomi said, "Papa, is there anything you can teach us that might help? You've fought mind-power wielders before. We haven't, not like this."

She saw expressions of gratitude and relief on Alex and Tessla's faces as their papa stopped trying to get out of bed to consider her inquiry. "I can share memories of a few failed efforts," he said, "and memories of the efforts that succeeded. Though most of you should already have the basics covered, from when I taught Shyla to resist Knives."

"I think she did most of the work, especially for the younger ones," Naomi said. "Anything you are willing to share is likely to be helpful."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not asking me this just to make me lie down, are you?" he asked.

"Why no, Papa," Naomi replied innocently. "We have a battle coming. We should be fully prepared and armed for it."

"I see," he said. (I hope your children are as cute and clever as you are,) he thought to her. (It would serve you right, after you pull things like this on your poor injured father.)

Naomi nearly giggled, but managed to convert it into a cough. (I love you too, Papa,) she thought.

One corner of his mouth quirked upward very slightly. "I'll need a moment to prepare," he said. "These are not memories I habitually dwell upon."

"Thank you," Naomi said.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

Alex took that opportunity to stretch his neck, and relax his shoulders. Tessla just closed her eyes and breathed deeply. At least he was lying still for the moment.

(Not an easy patient?) Frank inquired.

(He loves everyone else so much,) Naomi responded, (that he often neglects himself. Especially if he perceives that someone needs his help, he won't pause to tend his own needs. He will be driving himself to look after others in need, instead.)

(He's been away so much, or else busy tending younger ones, since I finished growing up,) Frank thought fondly, (that I don't know him as well as I could. I think I'd like to correct that.)

(I believe he would enjoy getting to know you better, too,) Naomi offered.

They smiled at each other.

She looked back at their father just as he opened his eyes.

"Who wants to go first?" he asked.

Rem and Nicholas both stepped forward, and nearly bumped into each other. "I will," they both said.

That quirky corner of Vash's mouth pulled upward, causing a minor lopsided grin. "Well, make up your minds," he said.

...

One by one, they each came and sat on the side of their father's cot. Each bent over him, and rested the forehead on his, while gently holding his face in both hands. He rested his hands on his grown child's face for a moment or two, and then released his offspring with a caress.

Naomi watched Frank receive his, and then she accepted hers. They sat side by side on a cot, and he put his arm around her again. They closed their eyes, and opened the memories their father had given them. They quietly concentrated on experiencing everything he'd shared, and learning from both his mistakes and his successes.

She opened her eyes just as Vash was struggling to sit up. She gently disengaged herself from Frank's arm, and knelt by her father's bed to help him sit. His body was repaired, but he remained weak.

He rewarded her with affectionate gratitude, and then looked at Chronica. "You may already know everything I have to offer," he said to the non-relative plant. "You might even know more than I do. I am willing to share with you, also, if you wish. Perhaps that way you can identify any gaps, and help them do better than I could alone."

Chronica looked thoughtful for a moment, and then she nodded. Wordlessly, she rose and went to the cot beside his, and sat opposite him. They both leaned forward, until the gap between them closed and their foreheads touched. After a moment, both leaned back. She looked slightly startled; he looked thoughtful.

Chronica stood and walked over to her own cot, sat there, closed her eyes, and clearly began processing the memories he'd shared.

He lay down, looking a little pale.

(Papa?) Naomi thought.

(Sharing memories through that method with a near-stranger is uncomfortable,) he thought to her. (I'm not hurt, just tired. I should rest before we go, anyhow. If I fall asleep, wake me at nightfall.)

(I will,) Naomi promised.

Seeing that Frank was still processing memories, and recalling that he was too young to have learned the basics because of Knives' attacks, she again sat beside him. She pulled his arm back around her waist, to where it had been, leaned her head on his shoulder, and waited for him to finish.

...

That night, they all quietly left the infirmary. They left payment and took two vehicles. One was a large car; the other was a truck with bunks in the back part.

The truck could be a camper or an ambulance, and it would provide a means whereby they could sleep in shifts as they traveled. The large car would allow them a less noticeable method of transport, after they hid the truck, when it was time to attack.

It took them a few hours, but they successfully smuggled the vehicles out of the village.

Frank drove the truck, with Naomi keeping him company and taking turns driving. Vash went into the back of the truck, with Alex and Tessla.

Nicholas drove the car, and Chronica claimed the other front seat. She offered to take shifts driving. Rem and Lina took their places in two of the car's other seats.

They told no one. They simply left, to go and find their missing kin.

...

...

**Author's note**: _The final chapter of this story is still in process... it will be added as soon as it is ready._


	7. Justice

_Vash the Stampede & Chronica belong to the amazingly creative Yasuhiro Nightow, not me._

_Approximately 3000 years after the manga ends..._

...

**Justice**

Nicholas waited impatiently for the signal. He wiggled and flexed his fingers around the grip of his pistol. He wanted to make sure they weren't cramping up the way it felt like every other part of him was. He resisted another impulse to scratch at the oil and sand mixture that covered his skin and clothing, making him visually blend into the desert.

He glanced across the concealed cave entrance where he waited, to see how Alex was faring. His twin responded with a brief focused burst of sympathy. He wondered if Frank and Chronica were any more comfortable, but he expected that their status was probably identical to his.

He didn't like the plan. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of a better one.

As they'd approached the town suspected of being the home of the malevolent plant, his Papa had wanted to stop at a cave system outside town to think over a strategy. When they arrived at the cave entrance, however, Chronica informed them that the problematical plant - along with most of their captured kin - was very near. There were signs of several recent tracks going into the cave.

This meant that instead of storming the town, they would need to storm the caves. Their papa had been in the cave system shortly after the great fall, and taken shelter there. He knew the area thoroughly, and led them to all of the numerous entrances. Some had been concealed or blocked up. Then they spent a few days watching the crooked leaf people, and planning what to do.

A pair of large trucks with many people packed into the back arrived on the second day. When they overheard them called "new recruits," Rem, Naomi, Lina and Tessla had mingled with them to infiltrate the crooked leaf cult.

The four had managed to be assigned to different areas, so by combining their information it was possible to form a reasonably clear picture. That picture was appalling.

The good news was that the children were physically unharmed. The cultists had deliberately captured thirty sets of twins, and then killed one twin from each set. This was intended to make the survivor more vulnerable to manipulation. Efforts were being made to brainwash the children, but none of the survivors were being harmed yet.

Tessla had been assigned to the children, and was doing her best to protect them without revealing her true intent. Each child was descended from a different brother; one was his own great-great-great granddaughter. The remaining twenty-nine children were the last living legacy of Brad, Livio, Carl, Kaite, Daniel, and most of the other brothers who'd been slain on the day of the massacre. This made the children doubly precious.

Rem had been assigned to the cavern where William, Tonis and Jared were kept. They were sedated and unconscious, though otherwise unharmed. She learned that the plan was to use them as a "stud farm" to produce pure and half-blood plant children with Kamila's followers. Rem was livid: she'd barely managed to exercise enough restraint to avoid blowing her own cover.

Rem had successfully managed a "moment of clumsiness" that delayed the start of using the breeding area. So far, no women in Kamila's service were yet coming to impregnate themselves on her brothers, biological or adopted. The revised date for that process to begin had prompted tonight becoming the chosen time to act.

Lina had been assigned to the kitchens, and she was doing her best to quietly keep drugs out of the meals being distributed. Drugging meals seemed to be a trend, especially for the children whose minds they hoped to remold to reflect their own philosophies.

Naomi had the most dangerous position. She had been assigned as a handmaid to Kamila, the female independent plant who was the root of this crooked leaf problem. Naomi would only report when she was certain that Kamila was sound asleep, and everyone else reported after her. Thus, they all avoided detection.

Naomi's reports, and her position, had helped their father to form the current plan.

Nicholas hated the plan. Vash was putting himself at extreme risk, in the hope of protecting others. Alex had offered to go in his father's place, but Vash wouldn't allow it.

Vash had gone in at dusk, alone, making an appearance of attacking in search of the children. He would send a signal when he was in the same room as Kamila, and Naomi was also present to assist.

That's when he and Alex from this side, and Frank and Chronica from the other side, would begin attacking. Rem would release their three brothers caged in the breeding area. Lina and Tessla would begin leading the children toward the designated meeting point.

Naomi would protect their father, as best she could. From Naomi's reports, they knew Kamila planned to cage Vash, and gloat and show off in front of him a little, before attempting seduction (or worse). They planned on that gloating time becoming their window of opportunity to attack.

Nicholas particularly disliked how that meant his father would be naked and either tied or caged... completely helpless, in the presence of a vicious enemy. He had protested this part, to his father's face. Vash had laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It wouldn't be the first time that happened to me, Nicholas," he'd said. "It is unpleasant, I can't deny that. But if it saves lives, then it is worth the trouble."

His only comfort was that Naomi would be there. He knew that she would fight to the death before allowing anything worse than embarrassment - which was, unfortunately, inherently built into the plan - to happen to their father.

He wondered and worried about how far they would get with the attack, before the mind battle began.

...

At last, the signal came.

He refused to think of what Kamila might be trying to do to his father. He needed to focus on disabling her followers, and rescuing all of his other surviving family members that were in her people's clutches.

He led Alex through the cleverly concealed cave opening, and began firing to disable each of Kamila's servants that he saw. He heard Alex's gun also firing, and knew that his gentler brother would ache over each injury he caused... but he also understood the need, and did what had to be done without hesitation.

He hoped that Frank and Chronica were having no difficulties as he shot the last one standing in the first cavern, and ran for the entrance to the next.

...

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the designated meeting point. There were Lina and Tessla, with all thirty children. Frank and Chronica reached the room at the same time as he and Alex did.

They'd caused cave-ins to numerous side tunnels, which would block most efforts of other crooked leaf people to reach the place where they were. A clear path of escape to the truck should remain open.

He sent Tessla and Alex to take the children toward the truck. He knew they would prefer not to have to injure any more people. Since the children still needed someone to help them, those two were the best choices.

He looked at Lina, Frank and Chronica. "Rem's late," he said needlessly. "She may not have been able to wake our brothers, and three is too many for one person to carry alone."

Lina nodded. "Let's go," she said.

Thanks to their father's hastily drawn maps, and Rem's detailed reports, they knew exactly where to look. Sure enough, they found Rem in a corner with her wings extended, standing over their three unconscious brothers and fighting off a few crooked leaf people.

A handful of gunshots disabled Rem's opponents, and Frank and Lina joined her.

"Get them out of here," Nicholas said. "We'll go look for Papa and Naomi."

"Right," Frank said. "Be careful."

"Always," Nicholas said, smiling tightly.

Papa and Naomi must be keeping Kamila occupied. So far, there was no sign of mental resistance. However, that was likely to change any second...

...

The route to Kamila's chambers was more convoluted than expected. Several tunnels had been completely blocked. The need to back up and try alternate routes had consumed time. He hated every wasted second.

However, the way the twisted plant had insulated herself from the bulk of the cave system had possibly prevented her from being aware that her people were under attack. Nicholas was surprised that he did not yet sense any mental attack. He knew that situation could not last much longer.

"In case you wondered," Chronica said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I plan to kill her. Please, don't try to stop me. Knives killed after he was captured and incarcerated. I won't give Kamila any chance to do the same."

Nicholas stopped in his tracks, and turned to stare at her for a moment. He was torn... Kamila had ordered his wife's death. She had also caused the deaths of his sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great grandchildren... These deaths, and more, were also hurting his papa. Yet his papa would not have her killed.

He could not disagree with Chronica's assessment. Kamila _was_ likely to do more harm if she lived. However, he wasn't sure if he could support anyone killing another... even when that other was Kamila. He'd been taught that "No one has the right to take the life of another" by his father and Grandma Rem.

His mother, though, she would occasionally say that sometimes there was no alternative. Sometimes a person was so thoroughly determined to harm others that the only way to stop them from killing was to stop them from breathing. It should only be a last resort, after all else had been tried... but sometimes, sadly, there was no other solution that protected the intended victims.

Chronica stood there, steadily looking into his face, awaiting his reply.

His mother was one of Kamila's victims.

"My first worry is Papa," he said grimly. "I'll look after him first. If you want to tend her..." he shrugged. "Do what you think best," he said finally. He couldn't bring himself to encourage her, but he couldn't bring himself to discourage killing Kamila, either.

"Thank you," she said. "Let's get this over with."

Nicholas nodded, and began running in the direction of Kamila's inner chambers again.

...

Chronica laid a hand on his shoulder as they approached an archway into another area. They could hear music coming through the opening. She placed one finger over her mouth, and then made a sign for wings.

He already had his wings on automatic defense, since some of Kamila's followers threw knives with enough skill to make them nearly as dangerous as bullets. He guessed she meant that they'd reached their destination. He frowned slightly.

She again put one finger over her mouth, as she slowly raised her gun. Then she flattened herself against the wall, beside the arch. She gestured for him to pass through first.

He raised his own gun, and nodded. He stepped against the wall and stood between Chronica and the arch. He carefully tried to peer through the opening without being seen.

He saw a handful of blindfolded musicians. He saw four scantily-clad girls, and realized with a start that one was his sister Naomi. Then he saw a cage suspended from the ceiling by the foot of an excessively elaborate bed. On the floor of the cage, his father sat clutching his knees against his chest. As expected, all of his clothing had been removed along with his prosthetic arm.

Kamila had her wings out, possibly the message Chronica had been attempting to convey. At least that made it plain who his enemy was. She was dressed very similarly to her handmaids, but with richer fabrics and more jewels. She was prodding his father through the cage bars with a rod, and commanding him to stand.

She did a hand gesture that made his father jerk, and then tremble. But he didn't stand.

Nicholas could see numerous bruises, suggesting she'd been poking at his father for some time. Vash was trembling with increasing violence, but he continued holding his legs tightly against his body, covering his chest and groin with them.

Enough was enough! Nicholas stepped into the room, his gun aimed at Kamila. "Stop it!" he said.

Suddenly his gun fell from his hands, because both hands opened of their own accord. Searing pain coursed through every part of his body, which caused his knees to buckle.

He caught himself on his hands, just before his face would have hit the floor. That movement had been sluggish and awkward. It felt as if he were underground, and had to move through sand instead of air.

The mind battle was engaged. He concentrated, fighting to reclaim control over his own body.

Kamila turned and smiled. "What is this?" she said. "Ah, Nicholas. You escaped my purge, just to come here?" Her voice dripped sarcasm. "How sweet of you. I had no idea that you would come and offer yourself to me this way."

The pain stopped, and he gasped. She extended her empty hand, and his body stood to its feet. He could no longer move his limbs; even breathing became difficult. She gestured slightly, and his shirt and upper-body armor came apart at the seams. The pieces of fabric and leather fell to the floor.

Kamila looked surprised. "Interesting," she said. "Your face is so different... I had not expected your body to be so much the same. I wonder how far that resemblance continues..." she looked as if she planned to move her hand again.

He deliberately avoided looking toward Naomi. He would not betray her, nor risk calling attention to anything she might be attempting to do. Instead, he glared at Kamila. "What's the matter?" he taunted. "Can't find a willing male, so you have cage men, or hold them down, to get any who will keep you company?"

That earned him another round of searing pain, but this time her control held him upright.

"Bad manners will be punished," she hissed.

He continued glaring at her, carefully ignoring the movement he saw from the corner of his eye. Naomi's bare feet were silent on the cave floor as she slowly moved closer to a position from which she could successfully attack Kamila. He couldn't tell if she had a weapon without looking, and he dared not look.

"My manners can scarcely be any worse than yours," Nicholas said, borrowing his father's tactic of keeping attention focused on himself.

"If you think you can defy me," she said, clenching her fist and increasing the pain, "you're sadly mistaken." She smiled a predatory smile that made Nicholas' blood run cold.

Suddenly a gunshot echoed through the cavern. A red spot appeared in the center of Kamila's forehead. Her eyes rolled up and she fell down.

"Priestess!" her loyal handmaids called, and they pulled daggers from sheathes on their legs. They rushed forward from their positions near the bed. Chronica shot them, also. Two fell on the bed, and bled profusely. The third fell onto the only rug on the floor.

The blind musicians fled, abandoning their instruments.

Nicholas crumpled to the floor, gasping. He reached for his pistol, and put it back into its holster. He was shaking too hard to attempt anything else immediately.

Naomi went to Kamila's corpse and pulled the key to their father's cage from a chain around the corpse's neck. She went to a series of levers, and worked with them. That slowly lowered the cage containing their father to the ground. She unlocked it and began checking their father's health, without moving him.

"You took your time," he complained when he felt Chronica's presence beside him.

"Had I attempted to shoot sooner, she might have noticed me," Chronica replied coolly. "She had to be completely focused on someone before it would work. I wasn't sure how much more your father could take, so I waited until she was completely focused on you."

Well, he couldn't argue against her strategy, even though he wanted to. It had been effective.

(Are you all right?) Naomi thought.

(Not yet, but I will be,) he decided. (How's Papa?)

(Bruised, embarrassed, and briefly unconscious from the pain,) she answered. (I'm not detecting any internal injuries. He will be ok, in time.)

Naomi was quickly wielding her dagger to make strips of cloth, and bandaging the injuries of the handmaids. Then she started looking around for fabric that wasn't drenched with blood. The stench was nauseating. He wouldn't wear bloodied cloth, and expected that their father wouldn't want to, either.

"As soon as we get away from here, we should send word to Sheriff Central and to the nearest medical center," Naomi said. "That way, the survivors can all be appropriately tended. Even if they're not injured, they should at least be watched for awhile. They will need help to get past the brainwashing that happens here. Most of them truly believed Kamila was some sort of divine priestess who could teach them how to make a better world."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Nicholas said. He shook his head sadly, thinking of the minds that Kamila had injured with her teachings.

Naomi took possession of the only two pieces of un-bloodied cloth available. She gently wakened their father and helped him to his feet, while holding a few yarz of cloth in front of him.

She had him hold one corner of a shining golden curtain in front of his right shoulder, while she passed the fabric across his chest and under his left arm. When she finished passing the fabric around his back, she tied the second corner to the first over his right shoulder. She'd also claimed the cords that had tied the curtains in place, and wrapped one around their father's waist. He was no longer naked, though the makeshift garment did leave about four finger-widths of his right side uncovered, from underarm to ankle.

She quickly dressed herself identically in the other curtain, over her scanty "handmaiden" attire. Nicholas had never before thought about his sister's figure. After seeing her form so nearly revealed, he imagined that Frank was going to be a _very_ happy husband.

Now, if they could only get safely outside and into their vehicles...

...

The cool night winds felt wonderful on his face and skin. He was finally out of that terrible sweltering place, and the free-moving air whispered that truth in a way that felt almost like a song. They had about half a mile to walk to reach their vehicles. Alex and a few of the littlest children, who had probably needed to rest their weary little feet, were waiting to greet them.

Alex quietly removed his own jacket, and offered it. Nicholas accepted.

As they began walking, Nicholas accidentally noticed something. The makeshift clothing Naomi had fashioned for herself and for their father was inadequate against the night winds of the open desert. They were better than nothing, but more was needed both for modesty and for warmth.

The wind sometimes caught the section below the waist, and blew it away from one of their bodies. Naomi's scanty "handmaiden" attire at least included something resembling underpants. Their father lacked that. With one child carried in each arm, Vash currently had no way to hold his makeshift garment together.

Naomi suddenly put down the child she was carrying, and pulled an ornate (but functional) dagger from a sheath tied to her leg. She cut off her own curtain-garment at her knees. She walked over to their father, and was trying to persuade the children to let go of him for a short time. She wanted to tie the extra fabric around his waist, to partially cover his other side.

It took Nicholas a moment to realize why Naomi was suddenly so concerned about their father's modesty. None of the family would even consider peeking; they all respected him far too much. However, one person among them was not family.

Nicholas moved between Chronica and his father, and glared at her.

"There's no harm in looking," Chronica protested, glaring back. After a moment, she sighed and looked away out over the desert. "I was only admiring the view," she said more softly. "I know he'd never want me that close."

"It's still rude," he said, less harshly than he'd originally planned. "He's a lot more than just a gazing-stock."

"I know that," she snapped, her eyes flashing as she turned her face back toward him. She glared at him briefly, before again looking away. "I hope your mother knows just how lucky she is."

"Why do you think she gave her life for him?" Nicholas said tensely. "She knows."

Chronica nodded, but said nothing more. She made no further efforts to look toward his father as they walked. Nicholas stayed near her to be sure of that.

When they reached the vehicles, Frank had already reclaimed the truck's driver's seat. Naomi joined him. Tessla, Vash, and the children climbed into the back.

Nicholas again took his place the driver's seat of the car. Rem, Alex and Lina arranged their three sleepy brothers as comfortably as possible in the back seat. Chronica chose to reclaim her seat beside him, so the others sat in the middle.

It was a long drive back to the Seeds village.

...

_Six months later..._

...

Nicholas walked into the Seeds Ship's second infirmary, and was surprised to find Naomi there. "Visiting Mama?" he asked, as casually as he could manage.

She startled. "Yes," she said. "Strange, isn't it, how when we were confined here this room seemed so cold it was almost eerie. Yet now that we can leave, we want to come back and see her... and it feels comforting."

"Yeah," he said.

"I can leave," she offered.

"No," he said. "She can't exactly hear me anyhow. If I don't want you to hear, I can think it instead of saying it."

His sister smiled, and then touched the control console. The panel slid down and revealed the cryo tube where their mother slept. Naomi touched another control, and a light softly illumined Shyla's face framed in nearly all black hair.

"She looks so peaceful," Naomi whispered. She stepped away from the controls, and placed her hands on the glass-like surface of their mother's tube. "I wonder if she dreams, in that kind of sleep."

"If she does," he said, "I hope they're good dreams."

He considered his sister for the space of several heartbeats. Of them all, Naomi was the most like their mother. Their father had commented on that many times. She didn't look as much like her as Tessla did, for example. However, her heart, personality, gifts, strengths and weaknesses were closer to Shyla's than any of their other siblings.

Maybe talking with Naomi was as close to talking with their mother as could be achieved, under present circumstances. He'd already talked with their father, at length, on the subject that still awaited his decision. Perhaps...

"Has Frank proposed yet?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered. "I accepted."

"Big surprise," he said gently. "Congratulations."

When she turned to look at him, her expression suggested that if there had been a pillow nearby - she would have thrown it at him. "Thanks, I think," she said.

For the first time since his parents began having children, there were enough marriage possibilities that all of the surviving Saverem females could potentially find spouses that were not too near of kin. He doubted that had been Kamila's plan when she ordered the deaths of all the others. However, it might be the one blessing to come out of that horror.

Naomi would soon have a real wedding, followed by a real marriage. Rem and Jared seemed to be moving in that direction, also, which worked since Jared was adopted just as Frank had been. Five of the children rescued six months ago were also not blood-kin, but the children of adopted brothers who'd married outside the family and whose descendants had done likewise. The others were all 5th and 6th generation, making them 4th and 5th cousins to each other.

He remembered when he had a wife, and he missed it. Those memories were not making it any easier to choose.

"If I did talk to Mama out loud," he said slowly, "and you thought you knew how she'd answer, would you say it?"

Naomi turned her head to look at him. "If you want me to, I can try."

"Please," he said.

She nodded.

He stepped forward, and also placed his hands on the surface of their mother's cryo tube. "Oh Mama," he said, "Papa tells me I must decide this on my own. And I don't know what to do."

It spilled out of him, and he was mildly surprised that the only emotional echoes he sensed from Naomi were compassion.

"It hurts," he began, "that Clara died. I miss her so much. I miss being married. I just don't know if I can love anyone that way again."

"I miss having a woman around. Since Clara died, there is no one to eat with. No one to go home to. No one to wake up beside. No one to notice or care if I leave dirty laundry on the floor. Not even anyone to take turns washing dishes with."

"Three weeks after we rescued the family that Kamila had captured, and I returned to December," he continued, "Chronica was reassigned to there. She's an odd one, and she's also very lonely. She might even be as lonely as I am."

"Last week, Chronica surprised me," he said. "She'd said she didn't expect love, but she and I could still share a house and a bed instead of both continuing to be so miserably lonely."

"If I do this, I'd marry her and not just take her as a lover," he said. "I'd want a home ready, in case we forgot to take preventative measures and had any children. It might only be going through the motions, and never become a real marriage. But even that might be better than this terrible aching loneliness."

"If I do this," he said, "it might gradually grow into a real marriage. I may not have the happiness I had with Clara, but I might achieve contentment. That's something I don't have now."

Reality could be harsh. He could wait for new independent girls. He could hope that, when they grew up (200+ years from now), one of them _might_ eventually choose him instead of a younger male plant who had never been married before... and that she _might_ also inspire romantic love inside of him toward her...

...or else he could accept Chronica's offer.

"The main concern Papa had was that the lack of love might only make this painful loneliness worse instead of better," he said. "Having someone else standing in the place of Clara, whom I'd loved so dearly and lost... he thought that might wound instead of heal. Maybe for him, that's exactly what it would do."

"Papa did have a suggestion. He thought I should try something similar to the dating that humans do, and see if spending more time around Chronica makes me feel better or worse."

"Papa also said that only I could fully know my own heart and mind, so the decision must be mine. Besides," and he found himself almost inclined to snicker at the truth of this, "he thinks I'd eventually resent it if anyone else tried to decide for me. He's probably right about that."

"Chronica is impatient for a decision," he said. "She came to me first, though she admitted that if I turn her down, she might approach one of my brothers. I just don't know which way to turn. I'm not even sure I like her as a friend; let alone for ... all this other stuff."

He sighed, and fell silent. He leaned his forehead on the glasslike surface of his mother's cryo sleep tube and closed his eyes. Saying everything out loud hadn't helped him decide anything.

"Talk to her," Naomi said. "Chronica _is_ lonely, but she's not unreasonable. Offer to date her. Spending time together should help ease the loneliness for both of you. Share some memories. When you know each other better, you can both make a better decision by making it together."

_Make the decision together... it was so simple. Why hadn't Papa thought of that? Or was this what Papa had meant, and he'd merely failed to understand?_

He leaned over and kissed Naomi's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Any time," she said, and smiled.

He smiled back, said "goodnight," and left the room feeling better than he had in months.

...

...

...

...

_... Nicholas and Chronica have a two-chapter tale titled "Rough Paths"_

_... The overall story continues in "Those Who Overcome."_


End file.
